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Post by PaperGrace on Sept 30, 2012 11:21:44 GMT -5
The deep, blue hue of the pallid moonlight, cascaded across the barren landscape of grotesquely twisted and gnarled cadaverous trees. Night voices did not disturb this lonely place, absent were the calls of crickets, frogs, and hunting birds. A peculiar, almost hollow stillness lingered amongst the noiseless realm, creating a murky, stale air, reminding one of the resting place of the dead.
Moving silently among the dead grass, a small, pale, twisted creature skittered. Its vibrant, fiery eyes, burnt through the darkness like two pits of hell as it crept insidiously about the earth. It stopped beneath a tree, a little larger than the rest, with branches that creaked with age hanging so low as to nearly scrape the ground. The moonlight seemed to dim, a suggestion of wings passing overhead; the small creature darted under a twist of roots in terror. As the creature hid there, cowering in a cavern formed of twisted roots, a low call sounded through the night, piercing in it's loneliness.
It was the baying of some unholy thing, not of this world; it was the sound of the creature which shook the very souls of locals, that robbed their children of their sleep at night, it was the winged serpent. As the sinuous ribbons of its scaly body undulated across the night sky it felt outward with its mind,searching for prey.
The creature beneath the twist of roots fell to his side; he clutched his head and wailed! His wail pierced the night, blocking his mind from that of the unholy demon soaring the skies. The serpent hovered, casting its baleful shadow over the melancholy grove but could no longer sense the waves of panic that had drawn it down so low out of the skies. It beat its wings, wheeled around and within moments sighted the ramshackle wooden hut at the edge of the ravine. The serpent settled to earth, transforming its shape into that of a man. This shape would not pass for a human man under even the slightest scrutiny; the lidless eyes unblinking, not a hair on its skin, the muscles moving irregularly under the grey robe gave away the beast inside.
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Post by scribbliz on Oct 2, 2012 10:17:22 GMT -5
Hunger gnawed at the beast; it's prey having escaped. It needed, craved the panic of the creatures, but this one simple creature continued to elude it.
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Post by scribbliz on Oct 19, 2012 19:48:11 GMT -5
(please, please, someone write more???)
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Post by PaperGrace on Oct 24, 2012 11:48:22 GMT -5
The humans in the village nearby sometimes provided the right flavor of fear, though more and more it was the wrong sort entirely. They seemed to have forgotten how to fear something properly, on a visceral level.
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Post by Freedom on Oct 24, 2012 17:31:27 GMT -5
Ewwhwwhwwhwwhw! You guys are goin great!!!
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Post by scribbliz on Jan 3, 2013 12:31:59 GMT -5
The deep, blue hue of the pallid moonlight, cascaded across the barren landscape of grotesquely twisted and gnarled cadaverous trees. Night voices did not disturb this lonely place, absent were the calls of crickets, frogs, and hunting birds. A peculiar, almost hollow stillness lingered amongst the noiseless realm, creating a murky, stale air, reminding one of the resting place of the dead.
Moving silently among the dead grass, a small, pale, twisted creature skittered. Its vibrant, fiery eyes, burnt through the darkness like two pits of hell as it crept insidiously about the earth. It stopped beneath a tree, a little larger than the rest, with branches that creaked with age hanging so low as to nearly scrape the ground. The moonlight seemed to dim, a suggestion of wings passing overhead; the small creature darted under a twist of roots in terror. As the creature hid there, cowering in a cavern formed of twisted roots, a low call sounded through the night, piercing in it's loneliness.
It was the baying of some unholy thing, not of this world; it was the sound of the creature which shook the very souls of locals, that robbed their children of their sleep at night, it was the winged serpent. As the sinuous ribbons of its scaly body undulated across the night sky it felt outward with its mind,searching for prey.
The creature beneath the twist of roots fell to his side; he clutched his head and wailed! His wail pierced the night, blocking his mind from that of the unholy demon soaring the skies. The serpent hovered, casting its baleful shadow over the melancholy grove but could no longer sense the waves of panic that had drawn it down so low out of the skies. It beat its wings, wheeled around and within moments sighted the ramshackle wooden hut at the edge of the ravine. The serpent settled to earth, transforming its shape into that of a man. This shape would not pass for a human man under even the slightest scrutiny; the lidless eyes unblinking, not a hair on its skin, the muscles moving irregularly under the grey robe gave away the beast inside. Hunger gnawed at the beast; it's prey having escaped. It needed, craved the panic of the creatures, but this one simple creature continued to elude it. The humans in the village nearby sometimes provided the right flavor of fear, though more and more it was the wrong sort entirely. They seemed to have forgotten how to fear something properly, on a visceral level.
In sheer frustration at it's prey having escaped, the beast lets out a howl that fills the air. Hearing the deathly howl, the pale creature moves deeper into his lair under the tree. His fear of this beast is rooted deep in his subconcious.
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Post by biskyscribbles on Jul 29, 2013 14:48:22 GMT -5
The deep, blue hue of the pallid moonlight, cascaded across the barren landscape of grotesquely twisted and gnarled cadaverous trees. Night voices did not disturb this lonely place, absent were the calls of crickets, frogs, and hunting birds. A peculiar, almost hollow stillness lingered amongst the noiseless realm, creating a murky, stale air, reminding one of the resting place of the dead.
Moving silently among the dead grass, a small, pale, twisted creature skittered. Its vibrant, fiery eyes, burnt through the darkness like two pits of hell as it crept insidiously about the earth. It stopped beneath a tree, a little larger than the rest, with branches that creaked with age hanging so low as to nearly scrape the ground. The moonlight seemed to dim, a suggestion of wings passing overhead; the small creature darted under a twist of roots in terror. As the creature hid there, cowering in a cavern formed of twisted roots, a low call sounded through the night, piercing in it's loneliness.
It was the baying of some unholy thing, not of this world; it was the sound of the creature which shook the very souls of locals, that robbed their children of their sleep at night, it was the winged serpent. As the sinuous ribbons of its scaly body undulated across the night sky it felt outward with its mind,searching for prey.
The creature beneath the twist of roots fell to his side; he clutched his head and wailed! His wail pierced the night, blocking his mind from that of the unholy demon soaring the skies. The serpent hovered, casting its baleful shadow over the melancholy grove but could no longer sense the waves of panic that had drawn it down so low out of the skies. It beat its wings, wheeled around and within moments sighted the ramshackle wooden hut at the edge of the ravine. The serpent settled to earth, transforming its shape into that of a man. This shape would not pass for a human man under even the slightest scrutiny; the lidless eyes unblinking, not a hair on its skin, the muscles moving irregularly under the grey robe gave away the beast inside. Hunger gnawed at the beast; it's prey having escaped. It needed, craved the panic of the creatures, but this one simple creature continued to elude it. The humans in the village nearby sometimes provided the right flavor of fear, though more and more it was the wrong sort entirely. They seemed to have forgotten how to fear something properly, on a visceral level.
In sheer frustration at it's prey having escaped, the beast lets out a howl that fills the air. Hearing the deathly howl, the pale creature moves deeper into his lair under the tree. His fear of this beast is rooted deep in his subconcious.
He dreamt of a time when things were different, when the beast was once a kindly being who ruled a land long forgotten. He felt a warm tear leave his eye as he heard the footsteps near.
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Post by scribbliz on Jul 29, 2013 15:10:41 GMT -5
For a moment, the pale creature wonders if those footsteps are real, or an echo from long ago. There was a time when life was differnt, when fear didn't rule the land. With a sigh, he turns towards the footsteps approaching.
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Post by biskyscribbles on Jul 29, 2013 15:23:14 GMT -5
But through the gap in the roots he sees a shadow blocking out the moonlight. Suddenly the foot passes infront of the entrance. The sandal wrapped around the pale, mottled skin of the foot. Dragon's engraved onto the buckles instantly materialise a memory in his head. Painful like an arrow, the visions of the dragons on the sheilds in that battle, the screams and clanging of metal ring through his ears. He recoils. Cursing himself for his cowardis as the feet carried on towards the city.
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Post by scribbliz on Jul 29, 2013 20:49:18 GMT -5
If only he could go back to when it started. If there was a way he could stop their ruler from becoming a beast who feeds on fear. If only he hadn't been so afraid then, could he have somehow stopped the horror from ever starting? The pale creature longed for peace, yet fear drives him deeper into his hiding place. Nightmares of dragons and pain fight their way free of his memory, memories he has long supressed. Regret floods through him as what he has long kept at bay burst through the wall he so long ago constructed.
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Post by biskyscribbles on Jul 30, 2013 3:56:10 GMT -5
He wept. Silken silver tears ran down the grooves of his malformed face. He cursed himself. He cursed his life. He cursed the Serpent.
Near the edge of the treeline, the Serpent man turned his head. Something tapped at his senses. The air grew thicker. Currents of wind becoming so thick they were suddenly as visible as waves. He turned, curious of this new feeling. He squinted as the ground began to glow. A light that fizzed and hopped between the dancing blades of grass.
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Post by scribbliz on Jul 30, 2013 17:10:29 GMT -5
The deep, blue hue of the pallid moonlight, cascaded across the barren landscape of grotesquely twisted and gnarled cadaverous trees. Night voices did not disturb this lonely place, absent were the calls of crickets, frogs, and hunting birds. A peculiar, almost hollow stillness lingered amongst the noiseless realm, creating a murky, stale air, reminding one of the resting place of the dead.
Moving silently among the dead grass, a small, pale, twisted creature skittered. Its vibrant, fiery eyes, burnt through the darkness like two pits of hell as it crept insidiously about the earth. It stopped beneath a tree, a little larger than the rest, with branches that creaked with age hanging so low as to nearly scrape the ground. The moonlight seemed to dim, a suggestion of wings passing overhead; the small creature darted under a twist of roots in terror. As the creature hid there, cowering in a cavern formed of twisted roots, a low call sounded through the night, piercing in it's loneliness.
It was the baying of some unholy thing, not of this world; it was the sound of the creature which shook the very souls of locals, that robbed their children of their sleep at night, it was the winged serpent. As the sinuous ribbons of its scaly body undulated across the night sky it felt outward with its mind,searching for prey.
The creature beneath the twist of roots fell to his side; he clutched his head and wailed! His wail pierced the night, blocking his mind from that of the unholy demon soaring the skies. The serpent hovered, casting its baleful shadow over the melancholy grove but could no longer sense the waves of panic that had drawn it down so low out of the skies. It beat its wings, wheeled around and within moments sighted the ramshackle wooden hut at the edge of the ravine. The serpent settled to earth, transforming its shape into that of a man. This shape would not pass for a human man under even the slightest scrutiny; the lidless eyes unblinking, not a hair on its skin, the muscles moving irregularly under the grey robe gave away the beast inside. Hunger gnawed at the beast; it's prey having escaped. It needed, craved the panic of the creatures, but this one simple creature continued to elude it. The humans in the village nearby sometimes provided the right flavor of fear, though more and more it was the wrong sort entirely. They seemed to have forgotten how to fear something properly, on a visceral level.
In sheer frustration at it's prey having escaped, the beast lets out a howl that fills the air. Hearing the deathly howl, the pale creature moves deeper into his lair under the tree. His fear of this beast is rooted deep in his subconcious.
He dreamt of a time when things were different, when the beast was once a kindly being who ruled a land long forgotten. He felt a warm tear leave his eye as he heard the footsteps near. For a moment, the pale creature wonders if those footsteps are real, or an echo from long ago. There was a time when life was differnt, when fear didn't rule the land. With a sigh, he turns towards the footsteps approaching. But through the gap in the roots he sees a shadow blocking out the moonlight. Suddenly the foot passes infront of the entrance. The sandal wrapped around the pale, mottled skin of the foot. Dragon's engraved onto the buckles instantly materialise a memory in his head. Painful like an arrow, the visions of the dragons on the sheilds in that battle, the screams and clanging of metal ring through his ears. He recoils. Cursing himself for his cowardis as the feet carried on towards the city. If only he could go back to when it started. If there was a way he could stop their ruler from becoming a beast who feeds on fear. If only he hadn't been so afraid then, could he have somehow stopped the horror from ever starting? The pale creature longed for peace, yet fear drives him deeper into his hiding place. Nightmares of dragons and pain fight their way free of his memory, memories he has long supressed. Regret floods through him as what he has long kept at bay burst through the wall he so long ago constructed. He wept. Silken silver tears ran down the grooves of his malformed face. He cursed himself. He cursed his life. He cursed the Serpent.
Near the edge of the treeline, the Serpent man turned his head. Something tapped at his senses. The air grew thicker. Currents of wind becoming so thick they were suddenly as visible as waves. He turned, curious of this new feeling. He squinted as the ground began to glow. A light that fizzed and hopped between the dancing blades of grass. This new emotion, drenched in light from the roots, swept through serpent as he stared at the tree. For a brief moment, the serpent remembered who he was. A memory of love and laughter shines bright inside, but then rage wells up. The serpent lets out a scream of pure fury, and reaches out to destroy this hateful light.
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